


my soul is tired (and calls out for yours)

by see_addy_write



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Exhaustion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 12:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18550201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/see_addy_write/pseuds/see_addy_write
Summary: "But going back hasn’t been an option since Alex was seventeen, when he fell in love with Guerin the first time. That kiss at the museum had ascertained that Alex would never be able to let go of his feelings for Michael for any reason, no matter how noble it was — and the truth of the matter is that Alex wants to let Michael into the less romantic parts of his life. Because he knows that opening himself up and offering Michael the most vulnerable parts of himself is the only way to keep him, to prove that Michael trust him in return, after far too many mistakes and heartbreaks. Laying himself bare is the only way they’re ever going to move past this awkward phase somewhere between cosmic love and tentative friendship, and though Alex has never been so frightened in his life, he takes the first step by unlocking the door."Post 1X12; written before the finale.





	my soul is tired (and calls out for yours)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic and I have a very love/hate relationship. By the time I finished it, I couldn't stand it -- but looking back at it now, there's a lot of it that I'm pretty proud of. I hope you take it for what it is, and enjoy. 
> 
> Written for the dialogue prompt: "Don't try to fix me. I'm not broken."
> 
> We're all a little broken after that last episode, though, right?? 
> 
> and here's a friendly reminder: i'm seeaddywrite on tumblr. most of the time i post fics there faster than here. feel free to come flail with me and cry all over the place on Tuesday night.

Keeping Michael at arm’s length is the hardest thing Alex has ever done. It’s the right thing, because while Alex made it back from Baghdad alive, he didn’t survive unscathed, and his head is a dangerous place. How can he commit to anyone, let alone Michael, when he’s not even sure that he’ll be able to sleep through the night? It’s easy to fool everyone else; he projects the perfect image of a calm, competent soldier whenever he’s in public, and no one ever questions it. No one but Michael, who’s always known him too damn well. So the mask becomes rigid, even cruel, when faced with Michael’s attempts to talk, or fix things, and Alex is left wondering if he’s ever going to be able to just feel like himself again. He’s pretty sure he won’t.

But at Cauffield, Alex is forced to give up all pretenses of being the rational soldier and makes the decision that if Michael’s going to stay and become another of his father’s victims, Alex is, too. For the past week, since realizing that Guerin’s been trying to rebuild a spacecraft and leave the planet, Alex has tried to imagine what a life without Michael in it, even at the fringes, would be like. And every time, no matter how creative Alex got, the image hurt. There is no scenario in which Alex is content with that reality — so he stays. He tears down every wall he’s put between the two of them since coming back to Roswell, and he lets Michael see exactly how deeply he’s loved, even if it’s by someone as messed up as Alex. “You are mine,” he tells Michael desperately, reminding him that he has someone, a family, even if it’s not his mother. “I never look away, Guerin!”

There are tears in his eyes as Michael throws the honesty back in his face, but Alex knows him well enough to see the lie in his desperate, grief-stricken eyes. He calls him on it, and thankfully, the woman in the cell intervenes, her hand glowing against the glass as she imparts another devastating truth to Michael.

Between Alex and whatever message the woman in the cell — Michael’s mother, _god_! — passed on, Michael leaves the prison and is physically safe, but Alex isn’t stupid enough to say that he’s fine. The entire ride back to Roswell is terrifyingly silent, and there are two instances in which the SUV beneath them shakes, and Alex knows it’s not because there’s something going wrong with the engine. Michael is in pain, and Michael is losing control. But he won’t let Alex help, won’t let him even try. Instead, as soon as they return to the garage where he lives, Michael slams the car door in Alex’s face without a word and tears off like a madman behind the wheel of his own truck. Alex is left staring after him, aching and bereft with the knowledge that there’s nothing he can do for Michael, now.

So Alex decides to help in the only way left to him; he turns to technology. There are other bases like Cauffield — there have to be. Because if Alex knows anything, it’s how his father operates. He’s been studying Jesse Manes for years remotely, searching for weaknesses, a way to bring him down as he so richly deserves. During those years of recon, Alex has learned that his father never puts all of his eggs in one basket. If Cauffield was rigged to blow the moment anyone stirred in the quarantined section, he had to have other research centers. He wouldn’t be willing to give up the only source of information about his perceived ‘enemy’ so easily.

That means that there are other aliens out there, maybe more of Michael’s family, or Max or Isobel’s, being tortured by Alex’s family. That means there’s still a chance to save someone, and not just stand back to watch them burn. And even if he hadn’t wanted to put an end to everything his father cares about, Alex would have been driven to save those people just to be sure Michael never had to watch his only chance at family go up in flames in front of him. When push comes to shove, Alex knows he’d put his father in the ground before he could ever hurt Michael like that again.

Three days pass, somehow, in a blur of codebreaking and recon. The guys in Alex’s squad had always ridden him about his focus while working — apparently, there’d once been an air raid at their base and he’d missed it while trying to hack into the enemy computers and take out their bombs. Anderson, one of his best friends, had always been the one to bring him food and pry the computer out of his hands on those missions, while Cooper, their best gunman, had the joy of shoving Alex into bed when he was feeling his most stubborn. Alex had never liked leaving important jobs unfinished, and his own physical well-being was a small price to pay if it meant success. But his friends are half a world away, now, and Alex is on his own. He remembers to eat, shoving an energy bar from his bag in his mouth when he notices that he’s hungry, and sleeps when he gets tired enough to start making mistakes. There’s no room for error in hacking; one wrong keystroke, and he could tip off whoever’s on the other end — and he can’t have that. Not yet. They’re not ready.

“You working on setting a world record for longest amount of time without a shower? Because if so, you should really do us all a favor and set up shop somewhere with more ventilation.” Valenti’s voice makes Alex freeze; he’s close, only a foot or so away from Alex’s chair, which means he hadn’t even noticed when the man opened the door or climbed down the stairs. Christ. His situational awareness has been on overdrive since his teenage years; living with a man who seemed to want him dead did that to a kid. War only made it worse — so it was damned scary that Valenti could sneak up on him so easily.

Exhaling slowly to rid himself of the threat of panic, Alex flicks his gaze to Kyle’s face and raises one eyebrow in a distinctly flat expression of judgment. “Funny,” he says scathingly, and is startled by how hoarse his voice sounds. From disuse, apparently. Huh. “What do you want, Valenti? I’m working.”

“I can see that,” Kyle says dryly, glancing around at the scatter of files, hard drives, and backup systems that Alex hasn’t bothered to keep neat. His eyes linger on the screen currently running location algorithms, but only for an instant. Then, he’s back to looking at Alex, expression distinctly unimpressed. “You planning on rejoining the world anytime soon? Or, you know, _sleeping_?”

Sometimes, it’s still utterly bizarre that this is who Kyle Valenti grew into after high school. He’d always been smart, so the MD wasn’t exactly a surprise, but the genuine care he seems to exude for people under his purview is hard for Alex to swallow. And the fact that he’s here, trying to babysit Alex, is even more so. Alex has been taking care of himself since he was a teenager; he doesn’t need Valenti barging in and telling him how to run his life, even if his intentions are good.

Alex turns back to the largest screen in his set-up without a word, moving the algorithms to run on one of the smaller monitors so that he can multi-task. He takes half a second to point curtly at the sleeping bag in the corner of the bunker, where he’d rested in the recent past … in the somewhat recent past, at least. It had definitely been in the last twenty-four hours. He thinks. But that isn’t any of Valenti’s damn business.

“Manes.” Kyle’s voice is full of exasperation, and a moment later, he’s standing too close, his eyes narrowed and one hand half-extended, like he can’t decide whether he wants to rest a hand on Alex’s shoulder or shake him. “A sleeping bag on the floor doesn’t count as decent sleep, and you know it. Have you left this room at all since we got back from Cauffield?”

Alex lets his silence speak for himself. Obviously, Kyle already knows the answer to that question, and his brain power is better focused on the task at hand than verbal sparring with Valenti. He knows, logically, that he’s going to have to take a break sometime soon. The cyber protections around the rest of Project Shepherd are much more sophisticated than his father’s systems, and Alex is only one man. But he’s so close to a break through, and he doesn’t have any actionable intel — and if Alex has to sit on his ass doing nothing after everything he’s witnessed lately, he thinks he might lose his mind for good this time.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Valenti,” Alex snaps, when it becomes clear that Kyle isn’t leaving. “I’m a grown man, and I need to do this — you standing there, breathing down my neck, isn’t going to make me move any faster!” The anger coursing through his body doesn’t quite fit the situation; Alex recognizes that as if from a distance, but is powerless to stop himself. He’s too worn, too emotionally and physically exhausted.

“Fine,” Kyle snaps back, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly. “I’ll just go sit in the corner and wait for you to pass out from lack of sleep or lack of nutrition, then, huh? My bet is it won’t take long, and then I won’t have to deal with the attitude when I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Alex takes a long, slow deep breath, and forces himself to swallow the rejoinder that no one had asked Kyle to look out for him. It’s hard, and the words threaten to emerge anyway, but Alex manages to control himself. After a moment of tense silence, he looks back at Valenti, his eyes hard. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Kyle,” he says, and it’s only sort of a lie. “But I need to do this. There could be other facilities like Cauffield, and if we don’t get to them before my father realizes what we know —”

“You think I don’t get that?” Kyle’s back to looking exasperated, but there’s a rigidity to his spine that suggests that he does actually understand. He wants to know what his father was involved in as much as Alex wants to take it apart, and Kyle isn’t the sort of man to relish in the deaths of of innocent people. “I’m on your side, Alex, remember? We’re going to take these sons of bitches down, and rescue anyone left. But you’re not going to be able to do that if you don’t take care of yourself— and I’m pretty sure Guerin would tell you the same thing, if he could see you right now.”

The mention of Michael hits Alex like a blow, and he clenches his jaw in automatic response. “Michael has bigger things to worry about right now,” he says, somehow managing to keep his voice even. “And he’d want me to find the other facilities, if they’re out there. It’s the only chance he has of finding more family, and I’m not going to take a _nap_ instead of -”

“For god’s sake, Manes! You’re the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met, you know?” Kyle shakes his head, and the muscle in Alex’s jaw jumps. He decides to take the high road and ignore the comment, because he’s pretty sure that Valenti is right at the top of that list with him. “You know what? Forget it. I should’ve just started with the back-up plan.”

Alex isn’t curious enough to wonder about what Kyle’s planning to turn around. He listens as footsteps recede out of the bunker and returns his full attention to the task in front of him. For a long while, all that he hears is the hum of the modems and the tap of his fingers on the keys — and the occasional yawn, because apparently, Valenti’s speech has reminded his body of exactly how little rest it had gotten in the last few days. Massaging the base of his leg where it met the join of the prosthetic absently, he reached for a Red Bull stashed in his knapsack — only for the can to float out of his hand and disappear over his shoulder.

Blinking, Alex stares at his empty hand, trying to decide if he’s more tired than he realized for a fleeting moment. It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to figure out what must have happened, and spins his chair so quickly that he nearly goes for a second turn around.

There in the doorway, silhouetted by the light streaming in from outside, stands Michael Guerin, Alex’s energy drink in one hand and a narrow-eyed look on his face. 

He looks like hell, Alex registers first. There are deep blue circles beneath his eyes, standing out in stark contrast against the pallor of his skin, and the usual warmth in his gaze when he looks at Alex is conspicuously absent. In its place is a terrible emptiness, one that makes something in Alex’s chest feel cold. He’s never seen Michael this closed off, this isolated, and he hates it, and the part he’s played in causing it.

“Hi,” Alex says quietly, making no move to get up. If Michael wants to be closer, he’ll close the distance himself — and Alex doesn’t want to push him, no matter how much he wishes he could wrap the other man in his arms and banish that devastating emptiness from his expression.

Michael shifts under his gaze, and glances around the room, much like Kyle had done when he came in earlier. Anger swamps him again when he realizes that Valenti must have gone and found Michael — _that_ was his back-up plan, apparently. As if Guerin doesn’t have enough on his plate right now, as if Kyle has any right to drag him here when he clearly needed to be working through the shock, grief, and pain that obviously hadn’t been dulled by a few days.

“I’m sorry Kyle called you,” Alex tries again, when Michael says nothing. “He doesn’t know when to mind his own business.”

“He said you haven’t left this room since we got back,” Michael says finally, obviously avoiding any direct reference to where they’d been or what they’d witnessed. Alex wonders if that’s because he doesn’t want to think about it, or because he doesn’t want to talk about it with him. Either one is fair, he supposes, even if it sucks to think Michael might not want to share his burdens with Alex. “That’s almost a week, now, you know.”

No, actually, Alex didn’t. A week? He’s been guessing three days, though, admittedly, it’s hard to gauge the passage of time when there’s no natural light in the room. God, has he really gone a week without a shower? No wonder Kyle had commented on the smell.

“Wanna tell me what’s so important that you can’t take a few hours away from the computer?” Michael prods, and takes a cautious step closer, like he’s afraid he’ll be turned away — which makes no goddamn sense, since if Alex had his way, he would never have left him in the first place.

“Valenti didn’t tell you?”

Michael snorts, and it’s the first real animation Alex has seen from him since he arrived. “All Valenti said was that I needed to get my ass over here and make you go home before he has one more patient at the hospital. I didn’t ask a lot of questions after that.” He gestures back at the screens, still running algorithms and password-bypass software, even while Alex isn’t watching. “Looks like you’re trying to find something, but that’s about as far as I get. Math, I can follow. Computer code, not so much.”

As always, it’s incredible to watch Michael’s mind at work. Alex is fairly certain that he’d have the algorithms figured out on his own if he gave him a few minutes, but he doesn’t really want a computer to be the one to tell him what Alex is looking for. Then again, Alex doesn’t particularly want to tell him, either. Not when Michael’s obviously avoiding the subject.

“I — I’m looking for other facilities like Cauffield,” he admits, his voice uncharacteristically timid. Alex hates feeling or sounding small or uncertain; he built his military career on being frosty under fire and quick to take charge of any given situation, and there is no room for uncertainty in that persona. But he’s never quite managed to keep that mask around Michael, not for long — and he can’t bear the idea of adding more hurt to the man he loves by rebuilding the walls that he’d torn down so completely when he was sure they were going to die together. “My dad, he wouldn’t have sacrificed one facility if there weren’t others. It would cut off his research, and he just wouldn’t do it.”

Michael sucks in a breath, and a wave of power emanates from him, slamming Alex’s chair back against the wall before he realizes what’s happening. The unexpected impact jolts his entire body painfully, and he winces before he can modulate the expression. He’s been sitting for days, and hasn’t removed the prosthetic for as long as he’s been in the bunker, so he’s more sore than he should be.

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, and he’s at Alex’s side, looking him over as if he expects to find blood or something. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

“Don’t, Guerin,” Alex admonishes immediately, unwilling to allow what amounted to a bruise to make Michael look so guilty. “I don’t need you to apologize. I get it.” Fury is an old friend for him, one he’d met as a teenager desperate to escape his father, and Alex had only gotten to know the emotion better during the war. He doesn’t need Michael to explain why he’d lost control in that moment — the idea of other people being held and tortured for decades by Jesse Manes makes him homicidal, too. The only difference is that Alex doesn’t have telekinetic powers to lose control of.

Michael opens his mouth as if to say something else, but closes it again. There’s a thoughtful quality to his silence, so Alex doesn’t interrupt. Instead, he grabs the armrests of his desk chair and levers himself out of it, cursing the wheels when it wobbles and sends him back into a seated position. He’s been sitting for too long; the muscles in his bad leg are tight and stiff, and he’s going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when his body catches up with him. For now, though, Alex can stand and drag the chair back to the computer monitors.

“You’re not going back to work on that,” Michael says incredulously, and the surprise in his voice is enough to have Alex turning back around to look at him. “No, Alex. It can wait. You need to go home and sleep, and give your leg a break — don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face when you had to stand up.” Alex feels strangely warmed by the words. He doesn’t like to be coddled, and never has, but the fact that Michael can be suffering so intensely and still be here to lecture Alex about his own well-being … it gives him hope, as inappropriate as it may be, considering their circumstances.

“It can’t wait, Michael. If my father figures out what we know, he could —”

“Do you _seriously_ think that I don’t know what your father is capable of?” Michael interrupts, his voice low and cold in a way that’s never been directed at Alex before. “Fuck you, Manes. I was there. At least twenty people like me, including my —” He stops, swallowing hard, and the unshed tears glimmering in his eyes are nearly Alex’s undoing. “All murdered in cold blood right in front of me. I fucking know what he could do.”

Alex swallows, and looks down at the floor, thoroughly chastised. What he’d said had been stupid, and he never would have warned Michael against Jesse Mane’s motives if he’d been running on all cylinders.

“But you’re going to go home, anyway. Because people who’ve been working for days make mistakes, and we can’t afford any,” Michael continues, his voice firm. “And Jesus, Alex, if you’re doing this for me, I can’t — you’ve gotta stop, okay? I can’t be the reason that you’re isolating yourself down here and not sleeping. Whether you meant what you said or not, I —”

Alex can’t keep his mouth shut at that. It hurts too much to listen to Michael doubt him, and to know that he’s taking way too much responsibility for Alex’s own actions and decisions. It’s not a surprise, not really, but Alex is exhausted, and his emotions are running away with him. “What do you mean, _whether I meant what I said or not_?” he demands. “When? When I told you that you’re my family? Or when I told you that you’re not the only one who never looks away? Because damn it, Guerin, both of those things are true!”

Michael stares at him for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable as he presumably tries to decide whether Alex is lying or not. Slowly, he nods, just once, and Alex is incredibly disappointed in the non-reaction.

“That algorithm you’re running looks pretty self-sufficient. Any chance you can set an alarm or something to let you know when it’s done while you’re at home?”

It’s a good solution. Alex can, in fact, set up a notification system pretty easily, but he’s still resentful of the subject change. He wants to know what Michael’s thinking. For once, he wishes he could borrow Isobel’s powers and take a peek, just to figure out where he stands. Does Michael hate him for being a part of the government that killed his mother? Is he pushing him away because seeing Alex’s face just brings back bad memories? Is it too much, to be involved with the son of the man who’s been torturing his people for decades? There are a million reasons for Michael to not want him anymore, even before one considers the fact that Alex has walked away from him over and over again.

Maybe it’s all true. Maybe they’re done. But this time, Michael will have to be the one to end it, because Alex is done pretending he can.

“That’s what I thought.” The satisfied words bring Alex out of his spiraling thoughts, and he raises an eyebrow at Guerin as he finishes, “Do it, get your stuff, and go home, Manes. I mean it.”

Normally, Alex would have bristled at the preemptive tone. He doesn’t take orders well, not even from superior officers — it’s gotten him in hot water more than once. And letting Michael boss him around this way sets a terrible precedent, one that suggests that he can walk in while Alex is working and make him stop at any time. But Michael doesn’t look nearly as desolate while he’s ordering Alex around, and it’s hard to be annoyed at that.

Before he can fully consider the ramifications of his words, Alex says, “On one condition.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he crosses his arms stubbornly. “Oh, yeah?” Alex has the impression that the other man will try to drag him out of here, if he thinks he has to, but Alex intends on stopping things before they can get to that level. He just can’t help but give this a try, first.

“Yeah. You come home with me. We’ll _both_ get something to eat, get cleaned up, and sleep. Because it’s pretty obvious you haven’t done any of that recently, either, and if it’s so wrong for me, it is for you, too.” Alex is fairly proud of the argument he makes, and the way that he doesn’t reveal how nervous he is to make the demand while he speaks. The thought of Michael in Alex’s private space is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying, since it’s new level of intimacy for both of them, but Alex can’t stand the thought of going home to rest and recuperate while Michael continues to torture himself. He wants to be there for him, wants to wash his ridiculous curls and twine protectively around him in bed and know that he’s safe. And that desire outweighs any anxiety.

For a too-long moment, Alex is sure that Michael’s silence means he’s going to be denied. He wasn’t allowed to be there for Michael before — why would he think that would change now? Just because Michael showed up here, worried about him?

“How else am I gonna make sure you’re not just working from the cabin?” Michael asks finally, a wary sort of acceptance in the question.

Alex’s breath rushes from him all at once, and he worries his knees will buckle from the onslaught of relief. He smiles, big and earnest, at Michael, and tries to wordlessly convey how pleased he is by this turn of events without coming off as insane. With the speed and ease born of a decade of practice, Alex sets up the notification system on the computers and shuts everything down. The only thing he wants to take with him is his laptop, so he shoves that in a bag - only for it to float out of his hands, much like the Red Bull can had earlier.

He glares over at Michael, who’s got the strap of his laptop case clenched in his good hand. “You just said you’re coming home with me. How will I be able to use it for work if you’re right there?”

For the first time since he arrives, a flicker of the usual warmth shows in his eyes when he looks at Alex. “This way there’s not even a temptation,” Michael says easily. “Better safe than sorry. It’ll be fine here — just leave it with everything else, and we can come get it tomorrow.”

Again, Alex finds himself wondering why he’s not pissed at the orders. He’s not a child, after all, and Michael is hardly the right person to be lecturing him on taking care of himself! But instead of irritation, all Alex feels is pleasure that Michael seems more like himself, and that he’s letting Alex in, at least a little.

So instead of fighting like he probably should, Alex sighs and acquiesces. The laptop case is left on the desk with the other information he’d been trying to sort through, and Alex takes a few moments to shut the rest of the equipment down. He avoids the chair as he works, a little afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get back up again if he sat down. Guerin doesn’t take his eyes off of him the entire time— he just leans against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest. The stance would look comfortable, if he didn’t know Michael as well as he did, but Alex could see the tension in his muscles, the thin veneer of calm painted over the emotional turmoil of the past week. Or …however long Alex has been down here.

Michael waits for him to lead the way outside, like he suspects that Alex will turn around and try to get back to work if he looks away for a moment. He’s patient with Alex’s slow, halting steps as his body adjusts to the new position after so long seated and his muscles cramp painfully. Eventually, they make it topside, and Alex blinks in the fading sunlight of early evening. Wordlessly, Michael opens the door to his truck and stares at Alex expectantly.

A quiet Michael isn’t one that Alex has much experience in dealing with, so he just follows his lead, keeping his mouth shut and clambering none-too-gracefully into the vehicle. He pulls up the GPS on his phone to give Michael directions to the cabin; he’s never been there, so as far as Alex knows, he needs directions.

The drive passes in silence, and by the time they pull up to Alex’s cabin, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The thought of inviting Michael inside wakes him up, though, and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. The reality of his life is inside that cabin in black and white, impossible to ignore. The spartan decor, the grab bars in his shower and near his bed, the wide aisles purposely created so that he can navigate the space on days when the prosthetic is not an option and he has to use his crutches. There’s the other things, too, like the anxiety medication on his bedside table with the muscle relaxant he’s probably going to need tonight, and the freezer full of frozen dinners that he’s been subsisting on for the last few months, since he’s a godawful cook. Michael doesn’t know most of that about him; Alex has taken great pains to keep it that way. If he opens the door and invites him in, there won’t be any going back —

But going back hasn’t been an option since Alex was seventeen, when he fell in love with Guerin the first time. That kiss at the museum had ascertained that Alex would never be able to let go of his feelings for Michael for any reason, no matter how noble it was — and the truth of the matter is that Alex wants to let Michael into the less romantic parts of his life. Because he knows that opening himself up and offering Michael the most vulnerable parts of himself is the only way to keep him, to prove that Michael trust him in return, after far too many mistakes and heartbreaks. Laying himself bare is the only way they’re ever going to move past this awkward phase somewhere between cosmic love and tentative friendship, and though Alex has never been so frightened in his life, he takes the first step by unlocking the door.

Michael waits for him to go inside first, but follows closely on his heels. Alex gives him a minute to look around the sparsely furnished space and moves to the coffee table to drop his cellphone on the surface. Now that he’s home, he feels disgusting — he definitely needs to take a shower before he goes anywhere near the bed that’s practically calling to him. But Michael is in his living room, running his good hand over the surface of everything he can touch, and how is Alex supposed to act normally?

“Well, I can definitely tell you’re a bachelor,” Michael says, breaking the silence with quirked lips.

Alex huffs a laugh and shrugs self-deprecatingly. “Hey, we don’t all have sisters that come in and decorate for us,” he teases, thinking of the crowded space of Michael’s airstream. “And I finally sprung for the coffee table, so I’m moving up in the world.” The small talk rankles; he and Michael have never done a lot of talking in their relationship, but it had never been small talk, either. They’d always shared important things with each other – like Michael’s entropy, or whatever he wants to call it, or Alex’s dreams to escape from his father. This feels like a conversation he’d have with a stranger, and Alex loathes it.

Michael seems to notice, because he comes closer — still tentative, but more sure of himself than he’d been in the bunker. “I need you to tell me that you meant it again,” he says, in a voice that Alex can barely hear over the suddenly frantic beating of his own heart. Alex knows exactly what ‘it’ Michael is referring to, even without any context, because when Michael’s guard is down, his heart is on his sleeve, and Alex can see the fear and the cautious hope mingling with grief and fury in his eyes. Michael’s always felt too much all at once, Alex knows — it’s part of the noise in his head that bothers him so much.

Maybe Alex can help with that again, like he used to. Some day.

“You are my family, Michael,” Alex tells him, reaching out to tangle their fingers together so he can’t draw away. “You’re the only person in the world who has ever made me feel safe, and I don’t think you understand how much that means to me.” For a boy who had been abandoned by his mother and hurt and hated by his father and brothers, then pushed out into a war he wanted no part of, safety isn’t something to take for granted. And to be given that feeling by another person is — well, Alex doesn’t have the words to explain how it feels.

The cautious hope he could see in Michael’s eyes was growing, now, becoming more and more certain as Alex spoke, so he kept going, determined to get it all out into the open so he could spend the rest of the night looking after Michael the way he’s wanted to all along. “No matter how hard I’ve tried to deny it, I’ve never been able to look away from you.” He leans forward to brush a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth — anything more would lead them places they shouldn’t go tonight. Alex doesn’t want to be used as a sexual distraction from Michael’s pain, and doesn’t want either of them to regret anything in the morning.

“I believe you,” Michael says in a hoarse voice, clutching at the lapels of Alex’s filthy flannel and resting their foreheads together. The position is so reminiscent of the one in Cauffield prison as the bomb was about to go off that Alex’s first instinct is to jerk away, but he stifles the impulse at the last second, moving his arms to wrap around Michael’s waist, instead, so that they’re chest-to-chest in the middle of the living room. At some point, Michael moves his face to the space between Alex’s shoulder and neck, and there’s a dampness against his skin that suggests he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s crying. Alex says nothing; he allows Michael his pride and simply strokes a hand up and down his spine, hoping that his proximity is as comforting to the other man as vice versa is to Alex.

“We both really need a shower,” Michael says finally, pulling away reluctantly. His eyes are lined with red, and there’s some residual dampness on cheek — otherwise, Alex wouldn’t have known he’d been crying mere moments ago. “And food. I forgot on the way back. Does anyone even deliver all the way out here?”

Alex chuckles, and nods. “I’ll take care of food if you want to shower first,” he offers generously. “There’s a decent pizza place on the edge of town that delivers up here.” He doesn’t mention that the only reason they deliver to Alex is because of the owner’s friendship with his father - it’s not relevant, and since it’s the only way they’ll have anything to eat other than frozen meals, Alex doesn’t want to go there.

Michael shakes his head. “Why don’t you just shower with me?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head until Alex hears his back crack. He seems so sure it’s a good idea, but part of Alex balks. He and Michael have never been naked around one another without sex, and that’s not on the table tonight — plus, showering isn’t exactly as easy for him as it sounds.

“Showering is kind of an ordeal for me,” Alex tells him frankly, biting at his lower lip. “I’m not supposed to shower with the prosthetic on.” There’s a chair in the shower for that purpose, along with grab bars on either side of it to he can get in and out without fooling around with crutches. He’s sure Michael can put those pieces together on his own — and Alex isn’t sure he’ll ever be comfortable spelling it all out for him. Not because he doesn’t trust Michael with the information, but because it’s a weakness, and Alex can’t help but be embarrassed.

“I won’t let you fall,” Michael promises, smiling faintly. “I’m an engineer. I’m pretty sure we can figure out the mechanics.”

Alex considers, trying to put aside the nerves from that obstacle and focus on the next. “I want to,” he says, and reaches out to grab Michael’s hand again, just in case he only hears the ‘but.’ “But I don’t think either of us are up for sex tonight. And we’re not exactly known for being able to keep our hands to ourselves.”

A complicated expression flickers on Michael’s face, but is gone before Alex can properly parse it. “I didn’t know sex with me was such so bad for you, Alex,” he says, bitterness obvious in the words. “Here I was, thinking you liked it.”

“Stop it,” Alex admonishes, rubbing tiny circles in the backs of Michael’s hands with his thumbs instead of letting go when Michael tries to pull away. “You know I do. But I don’t want to be a distraction, Guerin. And I don’t want to use you as one, either. I just want to — I want to be there for you. Especially since I know I haven’t always been, before.”

Now, Michael yanks his hands back, putting more space between them. Alex’s heart drops when he sees how close the other man is to the door — he’s ready to run again, to hide and lick his wounds in private. Alex has said too much, and he can’t take the words back.

“Don’t try to fix me, Alex,” Michael says harshly. “I’m not broken.” But his body language suggests that he doesn’t even believe his own words — and Alex is an expert at reading him, after all this time. Desperate to keep him there, to make him understand, Alex ignores the way his thigh muscles twinge and moves quickly toward Michael.

“We’re both a little broken,” he says, eyes pleading. Alex has no idea what he’ll do if Michael takes that last step out the door — probably follow him, like some sort of stalker. He doesn’t think he’s capable of watching him leave while he’s obviously hurting in ways Alex can’t begin to understand, and wonders, briefly, if this is how it felt when Alex shut him out of his own recovery after his amputation. If so, he’ll never be able to apologize enough for that pain. “But I’m not trying to fix you, Michael. I’m just trying to help. If you’ll let me.”

No one moves or speaks for the longest minute of Alex’s life, and then Michael is back in his space, one palm against the back of his head while the other seizes his lapel and pulls him in. The kiss is fierce, full of desperation and reassurance, and by the time Michael pulls away, Alex is already reconsidering his stance on sex for the night — not seriously, but his body is definitely on board.

“So, if I promise not to jump you —”

Alex smiles, and leads Michael to the bathroom.

It’s a big room, one Alex had installed after he moved in. The closet-sized bathroom that Valenti had used hadn’t cut it for someone who used crutches both early in the morning and late at night, and nor had the weird shag carpet. So Alex had hired people to knock a wall out and enlarge the space, install tile, and a giant shower with a head at either end. It was a luxury he couldn’t really afford, but Alex justified it with the fact that nothing else in his home was remotely luxurious— and he needed the handicapped access.

Once they’re in the bathroom with the door closed behind them, Alex begins undressing Michael, starting with the stubborn buttons on his shirt. The other man raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and simply stands still, letting Alex do what he wants. Slowly, his chest and torso is revealed, and Alex tosses the dirty shirt to the floor. Michael returns the favor, but when he’s done, Alex’s shirt is tossed telekinetically in the trash. “Trust me,” Michael murmurs at Alex’s note of complaint. “There was no saving that thing.”

Since he’s probably right, Alex just shrugs, and steps out of his pants. When he’s in just his boxers, he sits down on the closed lid of the toilet to begin unfastening the harness holding his prosthetic in place — but Michael stops him with a gentle hand on his good knee. “Let me,” he offers, already kneeling in front of Alex with no sign of hesitation on his face.

Alex swallows, but nods once. He’s usually independent to a fault, and has never let anyone else deal with his prosthetic before, not even his doctors, if he could help it. But if this is what Michael wants, Alex can let him — this one time, at least.

Deft mechanic’s hands unfasten the mechanisms that hold the leg in place, and Michael pulls it away and props it against the wall before removing the compression sock around Alex’s residual limb with equal care. Not once does he spend too much time staring, or look even remotely pitying, and for that alone, Alex could kiss him — so he does, gently, at the crown of his head.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, afraid that using a full voice would shatter the quiet tranquility of the moment. Michael’s answering smile is small, but honest, as he stands to get rid of the rest of his own clothes.

It’s awkward, at first. Alex hasn’t showered with anyone but his squad mates, and that was never even remotely intimate — just a bunch of men, trying to get the desert sand out of uncomfortable places before they ran out of hot water. And on top of that, he’s still getting used to showering while seated — adding another person makes it even more confusing. But Michael doesn’t seem bothered, and shoves his head under one of the spigots to wet his hair.

Eventually, the awkwardness eases. It helps when they stop trying to look everywhere but at each other, so Alex allows his gaze to amble along the strong lines of Michael’s body, appreciating his physique in a way he’s never really had the chance to before. Eventually, Alex reaches out with a soapy rag to scrub at his lower back because he can’t quite help himself — they’re so close, but they haven’t touched since Alex hauled his body into the shower, and he misses the contact. Michael sighs, pressing back into the touch, which Alex takes as permission to continue. He ends up washing every part of Michael that he can reach, from his shoulders down to his knees, and lingers over his work. Touching Michael like this, with care and no intention of turning it into something sexual, is a new experience — and one he wants to repeat as often as he’s allowed.

“Any chance you wanna do my hair?” Michael asks, when Alex has cleaned both of them more thoroughly than necessary. He’s been itching to get his fingers tangled in those curls, but he has no idea how to maneuver to make it happen. His concern must show on his face, because Michael touches his cheek and drops to sit in front of him, legs folded. Alex stares down at the top of his head and the line of his back, amazed that for Michael, it’s just that easy.

“Can you hand me the shampoo?” The bottle flies into his hand before Alex can finish asking, and he can’t help the startled noise he makes. Michael glances up, more challenge than apology, so Alex nudges him back around with his good knee so that he can get started.

Michael has always melted immediately as soon as Alex got his fingers into his hair — he’s not sure who enjoys it more, in all honesty. But this is the first time Alex has had an excuse to do it for any real length of time, and he takes full advantage. He massages Michael’s scalp as he works the shampoo into a lather, moving the whole way down to the base of his neck and back up with sudsy hands and gentle pressure. In moments, Michael is boneless against Alex’s leg, his head lolling backward, and Alex feels a strong sense of satisfaction. He’d done that. He’d relaxed Michael this way, made him feel secure and comfortable in his home and allowed him to lay down his burdens, at least for a little while. And that, Alex knows, is more intimate than any quickie in the truck bed could have ever been.

Eventually, they have to get out of the shower. Alex lets Michael help him, rather than heaving himself out by the grab bars, and they dry off in comfortable silence. He sends Michael to get them both sweats to sleep in, and pauses when he realizes he should have asked for his crutches, too. His pride isn’t going to let Michael half-carry him to the bedroom, and that’s not a habit he wants either of them to get into. He’s about to lift his voice to ask when Michael reenters the room, dressed, and carrying an added pair of sweats and Alex’s crutches under one arm.

“Thought you might need these,” he says, propping them up by the door, and Alex finds himself robbed of speech. Does Michael realize how unbelievably thoughtful that is? Alex is pretty sure that there’s not another person in the world who would have realized that Alex hates having to ask for help, or that he’d never let anyone carry him to bed like an oversized toddler. With that one simple gesture, Michael had given him his independence, his pride — and he didn’t even seem to realize how important that was.

“Alex? You good?”

Alex nods, his smile a little more emotional than he’d like. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m really good.” Michael returns the smile, and leans down to kiss Alex’s cheek before disappearing into the bedroom — somehow knowing that he’d want a minute to himself to get dressed. It’s an awkward, difficult thing to put pants on while sitting down, and Alex would just as soon not have a witness — and somehow, again, Michael just gets it. They fit together so easily in the bedroom for all those years; Alex doesn’t think either of them realized how easy it would be to fit their lives together, too. Even the messy parts.

He meets Michael in the bedroom, and even though he knows that the next thing on their to-do list was food, the warm water and activity has made him lethargic and reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he’d slept in a real bed.

“We can make breakfast in the morning,” Michael yawns, when Alex voices his thoughts aloud. The other man seems as tired as Alex, and when the sun rises, he knows they’re going to have to talk about why. They’ve done an excellent job of avoiding reality since they got back to Alex’s cabin, but he’s not naive enough to think they can escape it for long — not with a serial killer tied up in Michael’s cellar, and Jesse Manes still out there, unsupervised, with access to innocent aliens.

But there’s nothing they can do about either of those things tonight, and honestly, Alex thinks they need this even more than they need a plan to keep everyone safe. Michael had been minutes from falling apart — and Alex supposes he wasn’t much better, as irritating as it is to admit it. So when he curls around Michael beneath the covers and cuddles in close, Alex doesn’t feel guilty for taking a break. They’ll wake tomorrow refreshed and ready for war - tonight is about rest, and reconnection.

Later, when Michael is sleeping peacefully on Alex’s chest, Alex takes a minute away from carding his fingers through unruly curls to text Kyle Valenti: _I’m still going to punch you for not minding your own damn business, but … thanks._


End file.
